


An Old Solution

by alamorn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, F/F, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 11:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12012048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alamorn/pseuds/alamorn
Summary: The day before Sansa marries Joffrey, Cersei gives her some advice on how to survive her marriage.The night after, she takes Sansa to bed and demonstrates exactly what she meant by"Take your pleasure where you can."





	An Old Solution

**Author's Note:**

> Major differences: the Red Wedding has not yet happened, Robb still has Jaime, Catelyn did not make the trade, but she was able to convince Stannis and Renly to work together, but much of the forces had to be sent North to man the Wall, and Sansa has survived four years of betrothal to Joffrey.
> 
> Which is a lot of words to say: Sansa's sixteen and King's Landing is in a different precarious situation than in the books.

The day before the wedding, Cersei called Sansa up to her rooms and sent out the guard. Bruises peeked around her throat where a mailed hand had grasped her by the nape.

“Some advice,” Cersei said, pretending indifference and skimming over the letter in front of her. Robb Stark’s forces were still causing trouble in the North, though at this point it was a war of attrition and their resources simply couldn’t hold out. One of his advisors would tell him that soon, and they’d have to deal with a resurgence of attacks. Robb and his family would never be allowed to simply surrender, after all, not after what they did to Jamie.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Sansa said, staring at some point above Cersei’s head.

“Get him in his cups. Use your hands and mouth and you may not have to use your cunt. Make sure there are pretty girls around that may distract him. And Sansa?”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

Now Cersei looked at her, frank eye contact that Sansa seemed to find herself drawn to. She had the loveliest blue eyes. Cersei dreamed of them, sometimes. In her dreams, they stared out of a pale dead face, accusing as all dead things are. “Take your pleasure where you can.”

“Like you have, Your Grace?”

Oh, it was a joy to know that Joffrey hadn’t yet beaten all the spirit from her. Cersei leaned forward, letter forgotten. Her gown was low cut, and her breasts swelled against it. Sansa’s eyes dropped for a moment, less than a moment, then rose back, and Cersei smiled. This would be fun. “Come here, Sansa.”

Sansa hesitated only the slightest moment before approaching. She didn’t stop until Cersei told her to, when they were bare inches apart. Cersei grasped her by the chin and turned her this way and that. No bruises on her face, not even fading ones. Joffrey wanted her pretty for the wedding.

“Yes, Sansa,” she purred. “Exactly like me.”

 

The night of wedding, Sansa was attentive to Joffrey’s wine and Cersei was attentive to her. When Joffrey slumped in his seat, snoring and dribbling down his chin, Cersei was hit with a wave of emotion she didn’t want to pick apart. Disgust, an ugly, possessive joy.

She swept from her seat and caught Sansa by the wrist. Sansa stared up at her with wide blue eyes and Cersei favored her with a grim little smile. “Since my son is incapable of fulfilling his bedding, I will take his place.”

Sansa nodded at her, and allowed herself to be led to the room she would share with Joffrey, once he awoke. Heat curled in her belly and throbbed between her legs as they got closer.

When they arrived, Sansa headed for her vanity. Cersei barred the door. It wouldn’t do to be interrupted, after all.

“Well?” she said, moving towards the bed. “Strip.”

Sansa’s look of surprise was gratifying. “Your Grace?”

“I told you I would take Joffrey’s place. There was a wedding, and there must be a bedding.”

Sansa swallowed, and Cersei watched her throat bob. What a slender little neck. How good it would look, with Cersei’s hand locked around it. “I don’t…”

“You can say no, of course,” Cersei said. “Joffrey will not give you that choice. Nor will he make it good for you.”

“And you will?” There was steel in her voice. It made Cersei smile.

“Oh yes.”

Sansa licked her lips. Then she raised her hands to her bodice and started to pull loose her laces. Cersei sat on the edge of the bed and watched her. The wedding gown was high-necked silver and gold silk that covered her almost entirely. Cersei had chosen the cut, to make sure any inopportune bruises were concealed. As Sansa started to bare her skin, that proved a wise choice.

Purple bloomed in fists and fingers on her stomach and shoulders. Her thighs were covered in green and yellow, where the flat of a sword had struck her. Cersei felt something twisting inside her. Satisfaction, dismay, she couldn’t tell.

“Get on the bed,” she said, rather than think about it.

Naked, Sansa complied, scooting back so she was pressed against the pillows.Cersei looked her over, considering. Then she sat next to her and held her by the chin, tilted her head back, and kissed her deeply.

Heat roared through her as Sansa opened her mouth for her, half at how prettily the girl acquiesced, half at the thrill of taking something that should have been Joffrey’s, as Joffrey had taken the throne that should have been hers.

A sharp pain. She pulled back, and Sansa looked almost afraid but mostly proud. Cersei touched her lip, where Sansa had sunk her teeth in. No blood, just a sharp, sweet ache. She licked her lips and felt a smile drag at her face. “Very good, little dove,” she said, and swooped back down, licking into her mouth.

Sansa responded so eagerly that Cersei spared a thought to what she was getting out of it. The joy of cuckolding her _beloved Joffrey_? Living out some fantasy of choice? She didn’t care, really, and the moment Sansa’s hands crept up towards her hair, she stopped wondering, grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the mattress.

“Keep them there,” she said and slid down the length of Sansa’s body, taking a moment to tweak her nipples, and then spreading her legs and admiring the thatch of curls between them. No one else had ever been between these thighs, she marveled, and used her fingers to part Sansa’s curls before she dipped down to lick the length of her slit.

All of Sansa’s muscles jumped at once, and Cersei pulled away until she forcefully relaxed. Her dress was pressing into her uncomfortably, and her small clothes were damp but she made no move to strip, just licked back into Sansa until the girl was trembling. When wet was rushing over her tongue and filling her mouth, she slid an abrupt finger into Sansa’s tight little cunt.

No one else had ever been here before. The thought pleased her. Suddenly, she understood men’s obsession with virginity, even in peasant girls. She would always be Sansa’s first now. There would be no forgetting Cersei, even as she lay passive and still under Joffrey’s thrusting.

Sansa was not passive and still now. Her hips canted wildly, the muscles of her thighs and belly jumping and shivering. Her head tossed back and forth, and a stream of small noises escaped her mouth. It had been years since she’d seen Sansa so undone, so discomposed. She’d make her beg, Cersei decided. It had been too long since Sansa had really begged, with her heart in her throat, and tears in her eyes.

She worked her thumb in circles around Sansa’s nub, stroking the hot walls of her cunt with her finger until Sansa mewled. “Your Grace,” she said, her pleasantries still intact. That wouldn’t do. “Please kiss me.”

Well, how could she say no? Cersei kissed her deeply, and when she flinched away from the taste of her own cunt, Cersei chased her and gave no quarter. She’d make Sansa lick her own slick from Cersei’s fingers later, when they were done.

Sansa was too well-mannered to shove at her shoulders like the men she’d fucked, and Cersei enjoyed the novelty of that for a while, licking and biting her way down Sansa’s throat to her breasts. She sucked a bruise onto the curve of one breast. It wouldn’t stand out among all the others.

When she finally took a nipple into her mouth, Sansa let out a soft sigh. She pulled back, catching the nipple with her teeth and tugging hard enough that Sansa yelped. Then she soothed it with her tongue. If she had her druthers, that's how Sansa would be managed. The whip and then the carrot. Joffrey depended on whip alone.

When she bored with Sansa's pert breasts, she continued down once more, running her hands over bruised ribs. Her touch was light and careful until she felt cruel. Then she pushed down, sudden and sharp. The surprise of it made Sansa yelp more than the pain -- she really was incredibly good at holding her tongue when she expected the pain. She hardly ever whimpered for Joffrey anymore. It was one more thing Cersei could pull from her that no one else could. Smugness was sweet on her tongue, so she licked along Sansa's sharp hipbones, and then back into her sweet cunt. She was wetter now, tangy and sharp against Cersei's tongue.

"You're enjoying this," she had to murmur into Sansa's inner thigh.

"You told me, Your Grace," Sansa said, hands clenching on empty air above her head, where Cersei had told her to keep them so long before, "that I should take my pleasure where I can."

"So I did." She wasn't sure what had made her suddenly uneasy -- Sansa's tone? No, it was as simpering and guileless as always. And it couldn't have been her eyes -- they were glazed with pleasure, hardly a threat. But there was something there that Cersei did not trust.

She hadn't trusted most of the men she took to bed, either. That hardly stopped her from taking _her_ pleasure where she could. She worked her fingers back into Sansa's cunt, determined to drive any trace of composure from her features.

It didn't take so long, once she set herself to the task. But Sansa refused to beg, even when she was split open on three of Cersei's fingers, writhing and sweating and panting. And then she miscalculated, thumbed Sansa’s clit too firmly, and Sansa was pulsing around her fingers, waves of tightness so sharp and tight they were almost painful.

Cersei pulled her fingers free to let Sansa clench on nothingness and shoved her fingers into Sansa’s mouth, so abrupt she gagged a little before dutifully starting to suck. There was a smugness there she hated but could not seem to drive away. Sansa had gotten what she wanted, and Cersei couldn’t take it back now.

Furious, and wetter than she’d ever been without Jaime, Cersei rose from the bed. “Enjoy your husband, little dove.” She strode to the door and unbarred it, ready to sweep out and leave it gaping open so anyone could see their new little queen, debauched.

“I would enjoy you, Your Grace,” Sansa said behind her. Cersei glanced back without meaning to, and found that Sansa had sat up, curled her legs beneath her.

Cersei’s tongue was thick in her mouth and her clit throbbed between her legs. She swallowed. “Because I have not struck you?” She took a step towards the bed. “I can, little dove.”

“Because you have taught me so much, Your Grace.”

There was something in the way she said it that made Cersei think of Robert, and what he had taught her. And what she had given him. Fear seized her by the throat. She would get a new food taster for herself tomorrow, she decided. She licked her lips, tasted the traces of Sansa on them. “Let me teach you something else,” she said, tone even. “Never show your hand.”


End file.
